


Ace

by roqueamadi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tennis, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roqueamadi/pseuds/roqueamadi
Summary: Grand slam champion Jaime Lannister's life changed forever when he was captured by terrorists who cut off his right hand in a publicity stunt. After Jaime returns home, depressed and directionless, his brother Tyrion suggests he try out personal trainer Bronn.For Bronn, the ex-tennis star is just the kind of client he has been looking for. However, as Bronn gets to know Jaime better, things don't exactly go to plan.





	1. Game

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [salazarsslytherin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dust_ice_fire/pseuds/salazarsslytherin) for all the assistance/encouragement/general Jaime/Bronn discussions that helped me finish this.

Bronn pulled up outside the house and checked the address twice before getting out. It was a mansion alright, and more lavish than Tyrion’s. He pulled his duffel bag over one shoulder and walked up the drive, the white gravel crunching under his feet, then rang the doorbell.

When the door opened, he half expected a butler or some shit, but it was Jaime Lannister himself.

He wore a branded T-shirt and shorts and sneakers - just like on TV - but he looked pale and tired and deflated, and Bronn spared one quick glance for the stump of his right arm before returning his gaze to his face.

“My brother tells me you can keep your mouth shut.”

Bronn smirked. “He tells me you can afford it.”

The younger man didn’t find that either amusing or offensive. He just held the door open and Bronn stepped across the threshold into the modern, lavish mansion. He couldn’t help whistling as he looked around. Everything was white, and there was a view straight across the river.

“This way,” Jaime muttered, turning, and Bronn followed him through a maze of corridors and down some stairs and into the most expensive private home gym Bronn had ever seen, that was for sure, and he wasn’t exactly new to these gigs. Machines, plate stacks, chin-up bar, an open area with mats laid down - everything.

“I haven’t trained in a while,” Jaime muttered, throwing out his right arm to indicate the room - as though he still had a hand.

“No,” Bronn agreed. He had figured that out on his own.

Jaime frowned at his empty right wrist, clearly still uncomfortable with it, and put it awkwardly at his side. “So, erm - what kind of stuff do you do? Tyrion said he did some… self-defence, or something?”

Bronn nodded. “Yep. After that knifing,” he waved a hand at his face to mean Tyrion’s now-faded scar. “He wanted to learn to defend himself. I run a martial arts club, but I do personal training too. What do you want to work on?”

When Jaime just shrugged and looked uncomfortable, Bronn continued. “Let’s try some drills and see where you’re at. You’ll need to build up strength in your left arm. We can focus on that to start with.”

“Alright.”

Bronn unpacked his gear and directed Jaime through some stretches and warmups and then some fitness drills - crunches, squats and the like.

Jaime was a good student. Of course he was - you didn’t become a three-time grand slam champion without listening to your coach. But he was certainly no longer the grinning, cocky starlet Bronn remembered on TV. He was very clearly depressed - and who wouldn’t be? His entire livelihood had gone down the drain when that guerilla group had cut off his right hand on live TV in the most publicised hostage-taking stunt of the decade.

Worst of all was that Jaime had only been in that godforsaken place as an NGO goodwill ambassador when he got kidnapped.

Still, he brightened a little as the hour passed. Bronn did feel bad for him, but he certainly wasn’t going to show it, and didn’t hesitate to yell at him when he flagged, the same as he did for his brother.

“Alright, pushups now, with me,” he said towards the end of the session, dropping down into pushup position, and glanced up when Jaime just stood there.

“I - I _can’t_ do pushups,” he exclaimed.

“You can’t while you’re just standing there, that’s for sure, princess,” Bronn drawled in response, but at the same time put his right hand behind his back, squaring his left hand in the centre and dipped down in a one-armed pushup.

“Are you gonna join me or are you just gonna watch?” he demanded, looking up at Jaime again, and the younger man finally huffed and got down on the floor and struggled through a few one-armed pushups. When his arm was starting to shake, Bronn got up, still counting him, and grabbed the waistband of Jaime’s shorts in his fist and pulled him up through three more, then let go, letting him collapse on the floor, breathing hard.

“Good,” Bronn nodded, and glanced at his watch. “That’s enough for today, I think.”

Jaime pushed himself up into kneeling as Bronn started to pack up his equipment and wiped his face with a towel.

“Same time tomorrow?” Jaime asked, looking up at him, and Bronn cocked an eyebrow, pleased to know he’d struck on the right approach with this client.

“You better be ready for it. It ain’t getting easier.”

“Good.”

Jaime showed him out and passed him an envelope on the way out the door. Bronn looked inside and found a thick wad of cash - he wasn’t sure how much Tyrion had told Jaime his hourly rate was, so he wasn’t sure how much this was meant to be for, but it was at least a few weeks’ worth.

“Spoiled cunt must have liked me,” Bronn muttered as he got back in his car, feeling extremely satisfied with himself. Now all he had to do was ingratiate himself enough with Jaime that he got introduced to some other high-end clients, and he would be raking it in.

 

When Bronn arrived the following afternoon, he raised his hand to the bell and then paused as the door opened before he’d even rung, but it wasn’t Jaime. It was an older, taller, far sterner looking man who Bronn also recognised from TV - Jaime’s father.

During Jaime's matches on TV, the cameras had sometimes cut to his support team sitting in the stands, which invariably included his father watching sternly on, never cheering and barely clapping even if he won. Bronn had sat through multiple rants from Tyrion regarding the man, but had never come face to face with him before.

As the door opened, Bronn heard Jaime’s voice at the end of a yelled sentence from further inside the house - he didn’t catch what he said, but then his father not-quite-yelled back, “All I’m asking is that you consider it.”

Then he slammed the door shut and walked straight past Bronn as though he was a potted bush. Bronn stared after him for a moment before turning back and ringing the bell.

There were stomping footsteps inside and the door flew open and Jaime stood there, wearing tracksuit pants and a dirty T-shirt with bare feet and sleep-mussed hair, looking pissed, then-

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Bronn,” Bronn reminded him.

“I - yes, I remember.”

“...Is this a bad time?”

Jaime shook his head. “No. No, it’s a good time. Come through.”

Bronn stepped past Jaime’s arm, holding the door open. Jaime closed it behind him and said, “You remember how to get there? I need to get changed.”

“Sure.”

“See you in a minute.”

Jaime turned and ran upstairs. Bronn ran his tongue around the inside of his cheek thoughtfully as he watched him go, then strolled through the house, this time taking his time to get a better look at everything.

The hallway had framed pictures of Jaime holding up massive trophies, covered in sweat and grinning triumphantly. He passed by a TV room and noticed the blanket and the food wrappers and empty bottles spread around the couch. Through the window he could see the lush tennis court on the other side of the house.

He made his way down the stairs into the gym and pulled out a large punching bag from his duffel. Jaime looked like hitting something might be helpful for him today.

Bronn pushed Jaime until sweat was dripping off his hair. He had been right - hitting things seemed to cheer him up a little. He ran through some basic punching and kicking drills and then standard fitness interval training - including the one-arm pushups again.

When Jaime rolled onto his back and threw his right arm over his face at the end of the session, wiped out, Bronn said offhandedly to him, “What did your father want?” and half-expected Jaime to tell him to mind his own fucking business, but instead Jaime replied through his puffing,

“He wants me to try to relearn with my left hand.”

Bronn nodded as he started to pack up his gear. “Are you gonna?”

“I haven’t even touched a racket. Not since…” Jaime trailed off with a sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

 

Bronn continued to train Jaime every day, and he rather admired the man’s perseverance. True, he sometimes complained, but he always gave 110 per cent.

Then one afternoon, Bronn arrived to find the house busy with people coming and going - the door was wedged open and he took a tentative step inside, looking around. A caterer with a loaded trolley bustled past him. They were setting up for some kind of fancy social event.

Bronn took a few steps down the hall into the large area at the front of the house - it contained the kitchen and a dining area, all overlooking the river through massive windows. Jaime was standing behind the kitchen bench, watching as a caterer laid out wine glasses on a side table.

“Jaime.”

He jumped and turned, but when he saw Bronn, his shoulders relaxed.

“Are we still on for today?” Bronn asked.

“Yes,” Jaime said resolutely, and beckoned Bronn through the kitchen and around a back way to the gym.

“Having a party?” Bronn asked.

Jaime glanced over his shoulder. “It’s meant to be a welcome home party,” he muttered, reluctantly. “Father organised it. I didn’t realise it would be so… big.”

Bronn was seeing dollar signs already. If he could somehow hang around for this party, he had a wallet full of business cards to hand out. He could score some rich clients at an event like this. However, he couldn’t ignore Jaime’s anxiety.

“You’re not keen on it?”

“No,” Jaime replied as they arrived at the gym. “If it was up to me I’d tell them to all fuck off,” he muttered.

Bronn frowned at him as he dumped his bag on the ground. “It’s your house,” he pointed out.

Jaime just sighed and shook his head. Bronn didn’t push it.

They trained for an hour, like usual. The noise upstairs grew louder throughout. People were arriving. When they finished up, Bronn slipped his request in while Jaime still lay wiped out on the floor, trying to be as casual as possible.

“Hey, mind if I hand around for a few minutes, maybe hand out some business cards? I’m looking for new clients at the moment and-”

“Sure,” Jaime muttered, completely disinterested. “There’s a shower back there if you want to use it.” He waved at the back corner of the gym.

“Thanks.”

Jaime hauled himself up off the ground. “Guess I’d better go get ready.” He looked like he’d rather go jump off a bridge. Bronn felt a little bad for him as he watched him drag himself up the stairs.

Bronn took up Jaime’s offer to use the shower at the back. He made himself as presentable as possible and shoved a bunch of his business cards in his pocket before heading up to the party.

It was fancy. There were at least thirty people there already, all nicely dressed, practically stinking of money. There were canapes and champagne - Bronn eyed them with interest but decided to avoid them. He wanted to present as fit and healthy.

He spoke to a few people, handed out a few cards. It was going well. Bronn had always had a talent for networking. He was easy to talk to. After an hour or so, he started to keep an eye out for Jaime. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome.

It was another thirty minutes before Jaime arrived. Bronn knew straight away by the gravitation of the guests toward the doorway all at once, and he turned to watch.

Jaime was trapped by a semi-circle of people all greeting him. He responded politely, but he looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

Bronn couldn’t quite hear the conversation, but he could tell that it immediately turned straight to Jaime’s right arm. There were cries of dismay as he reluctantly held it up and then the barrage of questions seemed to hit him like bullets. Bronn watched as Jaime grew more and more anxious, and then finally made a quick excuse and turned to leave. Several people started to follow and he picked up into almost a run as he disappeared around the corner.

Bronn frowned at the rich vultures, watching as Tywin swooped in and distracted them, calling attention to some other star guest across the room. At least he gave Jaime a clean escape. Bronn clenched his jaw. This party was completely inappropriate for Jaime, who was clearly nowhere near ready to talk about his experience with strangers. 

Tywin, Bronn noted, was still hanging around playing host rather than checking on Jaime. Bronn hadn't spotted Tyrion here yet. He wondered where Jaime had run off to, and if he was alright, because he doubted there was anyone else who would be checking on him. Bronn stuck a finger in his pocket, confirming that he still had plenty of cards to hand out. He would be literally throwing money away if he didn't capitalise this opportunity. However, his taste for this party had somehow turned sour, and, with a sigh, he found his feet turning and hurrying down the hallway after Jaime.

He found him in the TV room, sitting on the couch with his head in his hand. Bronn strolled in and sat down next to him, flicking the news on at a low volume and leaning back on the couch. Jaime glanced up at him once as he entered and then returned to digging the heel of his hand into his eyes.

“So,” Bronn said after a while, “Have you even talked to anyone about what happened to you yet? Properly, I mean?”

Jaime didn’t reply. Bronn pushed harder. “Aren't they making you see like - you know - a counsellor or something?”

Jaime sighed and sat back. “I tried one, but I didn’t like it,” he muttered.

“Probably should keep trying until you get one you like,” Bronn suggested.

Jaime looked up. “Didn't think you'd be into that stuff.”

“What, mental health? That shit is serious. You can't ignore it. You’ve gotta talk to someone about it.”

“I-”

To Bronn's surprise, Jaime's eyes filled with tears, and he looked away, his shoulders curling in on himself, embarrassed.

“Oh, shit, Jaime…” he slid across the couch and without thinking put his arm around the man and drew him close and Jaime must have been fucking starved for human contact because he gratefully turned his face into Bronn's shoulder. Bronn let his hand thread lightly through Jaime's nice hair, soothingly, as the younger man took deep breaths and tried to get himself under control.

“Sorry-”

“Don't apologise. Not your fault. It's those evil fucking cunts who did this to you. But you'll survive, and you're gonna be just fine, and they're all in the ground. So who won at the end of the day, hmm?”

Jaime’s forehead was still flopped onto Bronn’s shoulder. “You think I'll be fine?” Jaime muttered.

“I know it,” Bronn said fiercely, squeezing Jaime’s shoulder reassuringly, and Jaime reluctantly pulled back, bringing his hand up to scrub his face. Bronn slid back, putting distance between them again, scratching his cheek awkwardly.

Then he pulled his phone out and called Tyrion.

“Sir Bronn!” Tyrion answered teasingly. “What’s happening?”

“Hey, are you at this party? I didn’t see you.”

“At Jaime’s? Yes, I just arrived! Are you here?”

“Yeah. Get your arse around to the TV room. Keep it quiet. Jaime needs you to come take him back to your place.”

“Father won’t be happy with that,” Tyrion replied, with a grin in his voice.

“Which is why I know you’ll do it,” Bronn said, and hung up.

When he looked back at Jaime, he was already shaking his head. “I can’t go anywhere, this is _my_ party-”

“You’re saying you want to be out there?” Bronn asked skeptically.

“No…”

“Then why do it?”

Jaime didn’t have an answer for that. A moment later, Tyrion appeared in the doorway. Bronn stood and Tyrion gave a quick calculating glance from Bronn to Jaime and back again.

“Are we ditching this party?” he asked with a grin.

“Sneak out the back way so no one sees you,” Bronn instructed, clapping Tyrion on the shoulder as he passed.

“You’re not joining us?” Tyrion asked with a slightly sly expression, and Bronn shook his head.

“Just get him out of here, alright?” he said in a low voice. Tyrion nodded.

Bronn left them to it, resolutely _not_ glancing back at Jaime as he left. He stopped back into the gym to grab his stuff and then left via the front door. By the time he got back in his car, he caught a glimpse of Jaime and Tyrion darting across the road and jumping in a car - probably an Uber - and driving off.

He didn’t regret not going with them - not at all. What fucking money would he make out of doing that?

 

It was Tyrion’s birthday the next weekend. It crept up on Bronn - he had said he would attend weeks ago but didn’t realise until Saturday morning that it was that night. He hadn’t asked Jaime through the week if he was going too, though he hoped he was; the rest of Tyrion's friends were annoying pricks.

He picked up a bottle of wine as a gift on the way and arrived at the restaurant to find Tyrion at a large table packed with his loud friends. Same as last year. Bronn didn’t really mind; perhaps he could try to get some new clients.

“Bronn!” Tyrion greeted him. He introduced him to the others at the table, listing several names that Bronn had no hope of remembering. Then he directed him to sit at the end of the long booth.

Bronn squeezed in and tried to remember the name of the guy next to him, but the guy had already turned back to his friends on the other side, his shoulder blocking Bronn from the conversation. Bronn sat back and was preparing to settle in for a boring night when someone else squeezed in beside him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jaime mumbled to Tyrion as he sat down.

There wasn’t much space, and the guy along from Bronn wasn’t budging up any further, so Jaime squeezed in on the end, his thigh pressing against Bronn’s.

Bronn grinned at him.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” he said. “I could’ve picked you up.”

“Caught a taxi,” Jaime shrugged. He looked somehow anxious.

Bronn leaned a little closer and spoke in as low a voice as possible to still be heard in the crowded restaurant. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Jaime said with a shake of his head, but Bronn wasn’t convinced.

“Come on, you can tell me,” he said, giving Jaime a small nudge with his elbow. “What is it, your father bugging you again?”

Jaime gave half a reluctant smile. “Well, yes, actually.”

“What’s he want now? Is he demanding you grow your hand back and then travel back in time to win last year’s tournaments?”

Jaime sighed. “He would demand that if he could. He just wants me to decide what to do now - coaching or something. He wants to know what my new goals are.” He shrugged.

“And what do you want to do?”

Jaime sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want and I don’t know how to decide… I guess I should just pick something-” he was getting worked up again.

Bronn put a hand on his knee and Jaime stilled. “Have you considered that what you want might be to do nothing? To just rest and recover?”

“That’s not a goal…”

“You don’t have to want goals all the time. Jaime, if what you want to do is absolutely nothing, then do that. If what you want to do is go home right now and do nothing, you should do that. I’ll drive you.”

Jaime smiled reluctantly again. “Well," he said, considering. "I wouldn’t mind one of those." He nodded at Bronn’s beer.

Bronn paused with it halfway to his lips and passed it to Jaime. “Have mine. I’ll order new ones.”

 

They talked. They talked about _everything_. Bronn was getting a huge amount of enjoyment just from drawing out all the interesting details of Jaime's life. He was fascinated by him.

“Hang on - what do you mean they made you drop out?” he interrupted Jaime halfway through a story.

“Oh, well, they wanted me to focus on my tennis, so they got a special dispensation to let me drop out of school early.”

“But you just said you didn't want to.”

“At the time, no.”

“No one asked your opinion?”

Jaime just looked at him strangely. “Well, it was worth it, wasn’t it? With what I was able to achieve?” he recited.

Bronn shook his head in amazement. “I dunno,” he said, and tried hard not to make any further comment. “So, all these other players you talk about,” he said, changing the subject. “I haven’t noticed any of them visiting you.”

“They're all on tour.”

“You've been back what, a few months now? And none of them have come to see you?”

“No…”

“Sound like shit friends.”

Jaime just shrugged. “Some have emailed.”

Bronn rolled his eyes at that, but Jaime didn’t see it. “How long were you held hostage, in total?”

Jaime seemed to shrink inside himself a little and Bronn suddenly wondered if anyone has directly asked him about the experience at all yet (aside from those vultures at Jaime's house party, but they didn't count).

“Most of a year.”

“Fuck. I didn't realise it was that long. How far into it did they do that?” He nodded at Jaime's right arm which he quickly put under the table.

“About halfway,” he said, and didn’t seem inclined to say any more, but then words spilled out of his mouth and he seemed almost surprised to be saying them. “For a long time they were trying to figure out exactly what to do with me. I don’t think they had expected to actually succeed with taking me hostage.” He paused. “Once they did it - cut my hand off - it almost wasn't so bad after that, because at least they'd done their worst already. Well, I wondered if they’d kill me.”

“Jesus.” Bronn frowned.

Jaime just shrugged.

“Where did you stay? Did they lock you in a cell?”

Jaime paused before replying, his gaze fixed on the table. “They tied me to a post, actually,” he said lightly, and Bronn sat back, slightly shocked.

“A post?”

“Mm. For months.”

“Like, outside?”

Jaime nodded.

“Fuck, Jaime,” Bronn said. Jaime looked uncomfortable. Bronn was suddenly 100% certain that Jaime had never said that aloud to anyone else.

As a younger man, Bronn had been in the army. Also, he wasn’t an idiot. This admission of Jaime’s alone told him enough about the conditions Jaime had been in to know that the whole experience was likely far worse than anyone, even the news channels, even the government, had admitted. Worse than Bronn thought Tyrion - and likely Tywin - even realised. It didn't happen to him often, but he honestly felt shocked. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the time or place to go into it any further, but he did feel something slightly warm in his chest when he looked back at the man beside him, sitting there and putting on a brave face and trying to act like everything was normal.

He cleared his throat.

“More drinks?” he asked, noticing Jaime’s was empty.

Jaime nodded and Bronn signalled the waitress.

“Come on, let's talk about something else for a while. I want to know how much sex actually happens at those tennis tournaments.”

This drew a small laugh from Jaime and Bronn smiled.

 

Despite the awkward start to the conversation, the evening had gone well. To Bronn’s slight relief, the rest of Tyrion’s annoying friends left them mostly alone to talk for the whole night, and as the dinner wound up, Bronn offered Jaime a ride home.

And then it all got messed up.

They were almost back at the car when Bronn drew to a sudden halt as a guy in a hood stepped around the corner ahead of them. Bronn immediately glanced over his shoulder and saw the guy’s buddy appear behind them, as he’d expected. He put a hand on Jaime’s arm - the blonde hadn’t even noticed the threat yet - and squeezed reassuringly.

“Nice night, mate,” Bronn greeted the thug ahead of them. But the guy had fucking dead eyes, so that technique probably wasn’t going to work. Bronn’s hand was still on Jaime’s arm. He could feel the other man gradually tensing up as he realised what was happening. Bronn tried to do the opposite, stay loose and relaxed, ready for anything. He gently urged Jaime to the side and towards the wall, and backed up, trying to stop the two thugs from surrounding them. He kept Jaime behind him.

“Give us your wallets,” the thug grunted.

“Sure, no problem,” Bronn said in a friendly voice, pulling it from his pocket and throwing it on the ground. Jaime copied him, and Bronn worried Jaime’s would be a lot more valuable. The second guy snatched them up and looked through, pulling out a little cash, not bothering with the cards. He tossed them back on the ground.

“Shit all,” he muttered. The other guy pulled a knife from his jacket pocket and took a menacing step forward. Jaime jumped and Bronn threw an arm out, pushing Jaime further behind him.

“You better have some more cash in those pockets,” the guy demanded. Bronn didn’t. He lowered his stance very slowly.

“That’s all, mate. Sorry.”

“What about your boyfriend?”

“I don’t have anything else,” Jaime said in a rather high-pitched voice, and Bronn noted somewhere in the back of his mind that Jaime had responded rather quickly to the identifier of Bronn’s boyfriend.

“Give us more cash or I’ll fucking slash you,” the guy demanded, his voice getting louder, and Bronn saw the moment his muscles engaged. He jabbed the knife towards Bronn, and Bronn took the chance to act.

At the precise moment when the guy’s arm was fully extended, Bronn slammed his forearm down hard on the back of the guy’s wrist. He yelled and dropped the knife. Bronn punched him right in the nose and he stumbled backwards, choking on blood. He would have preferred to pick up the knife, but couldn’t risk bending over; the other guy was about to charge him. He instead kicked it quickly aside.

The second guy barrelled forward, his own knife raised, ready to slash down, and Bronn turned and swept his leg out and sent the guy flying into the ground. Bronn was on him in a second, kicking hard into the guy’s arm until he dropped his knife and then kicking him harder in the groin for good measure.

Bronn picked up both knives and stood passively as the guy scrambled to his feet, with effort. The other guy was already turning to run for it, and they both fled, looking back over their shoulders with a mix of terror and disbelief. Bronn let them go with a grin, extremely satisfied with himself, and bent to pick up the two wallets off the ground. Then he turned back to Jaime and his grin faded.

Jaime was standing with his back pressed to the wall, his eyes squeezed shut, his whole body rigid, but his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Jaime,” Bronn said in a calm voice. He took a step closer to him. “Jaime, are you alright? Can you hear me?”

When he got no response he stepped close enough to put a hand on Jaime’s arm. “Jaime, open your eyes.”

“No.”

“Jaime, it’s Bronn. We were just at Tyrion’s birthday party. Open your eyes for me.”

Jaime took a shuddering breath and finally opened his eyes. When he saw Bronn standing in front of him, he came back to himself. The tension fell away from him and his legs gave out.

Bronn was ready for that. He caught him and eased him down to the ground, against the wall.

He kept his grip firmly on Jaime’s arm, reassuring.

“Are you alright?”

Jaime was pale. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t - I don’t think I can do this, Bronn.”

“Do what?”

Jaime’s breathing was growing shallower. “This. Anything. I just - I just can’t-”

He squeezed his eyes shut. Bronn put one knee on the ground, leaning closer, putting a hand on Jaime’s cheek.

“Jaime. Look at me, Jaime.”

Jaime opened his eyes again. He was starting to shake.

“Breathe with me,” Bronn said calmly. “In. Out. Again.” Jaime followed Bronn’s instructions. They breathed together. He kept it up until eventually some colour returned to Jaime’s face.

“Now listen,” Bronn said after a few moments. “This, what you’re going through right now, this is normal.”

“It’s not _normal-_ ”

“With what you’ve been through, it is. I was in the army, Jaime, I know PTSD when I see it.”

Jaime looked up at him with wide eyes. Bronn continued. “You came out tonight, didn’t you? I even saw you smile a few times. Hey?”

Jaime shrugged awkwardly.

“You’re doing well. Did ya hear me?” He grabbed Jaime’s chin and lifted his head so that he met Bronn’s eyes. “You’re doing really well. You’re gonna be fine. Just not straight away. Okay?”

Jaime nodded and swallowed hard. Bronn frowned. “Say it,” he said. “Say ‘I’m gonna be okay’.”

“I’m going to be okay,” Jaime mumbled.

“Damn right.” Bronn said, Jaime’s chin still in his hand, and then, all of a sudden, he felt like he was hit over the head with the weight of the feeling that clenched his heart. He should have seen it coming. He let Jaime go and moved back quickly before he did something stupid like kiss him.

Then he hauled him to his feet by his upper arm and tugged him in the direction of the car.

Once they were on their way, Jaime took a deep breath and said, “Should we - should we call the police?”

Bronn shrugged. “Think I already punished them better than any police could.”

He glanced at Jaime’s pale face. “Don’t need me to pull over, do you? You feel alright?”

Jaime took a few more breaths and then looked down at his jacket sleeves, the backs of his arms damp with something unpleasant from when he was pressed against the wall.

“I got dirty.”

Bronn snorted laughter. “It’s alright, princess, I’m taking you home now.”

Jaime gave a faint grin and Bronn liked that he didn’t seem to mind being called ‘princess’ at all. He suddenly desperately wanted to call him that while balls-deep inside him, but he pushed the thought down before it even properly surfaced. A scuffle like that always left his adrenaline up and wanting to fuck, but he knew it wouldn’t be the best move right now. He needed to let Jaime calm down after that experience.

Bronn pulled up at Jaime’s house and put the handbrake on, but left the car running.

“Sure you’re alright?” he asked again, leaning his elbow on the steering wheel.

Jaime nodded. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Yeah you have,” Bronn agreed with a small smile. “Go on, then. You’d better hurry in and burn your dirty clothes.”

Jaime smiled. “I’ll see you on Monday, then.”

Bronn nodded.

Jaime hesitated, and for a moment Bronn thought Jaime might lean over and kiss him, but then he just nodded and got out.

“See you.”


	2. Set

On Monday, they resumed their normal routine. Bronn tried hard not to flirt with Jaime, and besides, he was busy with other new clients. He just grit his teeth as he started noticing more and more how nicely Jaime’s shirts sat on his chest, and how much his face lit up if he ever managed to get him to smile, and reminded himself firmly that he was just in this for the money.

Still, they always talked while they trained. Jaime wanted to hear about Bronn’s stint in the army and his martial arts experience. Bronn learned that Jaime had only actually been back home for a month when Bronn first met him, after spending time in hospitals in both Dubai and back home before he was released. He managed to draw out a few more small details of Jaime's experience as a hostage, but he usually didn't want to talk about it.

Then, one Friday, Bronn arrived in the middle of another domestic between Jaime and his father.

He was surprised Jaime even let him in. He threw the door open in the middle of shouting over his shoulder at Tywin, and Bronn tried to look inconspicuous as he stepped inside. Jaime jerked his head in the direction of the gym, so Bronn started down the hallway, but the fight continued the whole way, Jaime following after Bronn and his father following after the two of them, yelling.

“Your sponsors are calling me. Your manager is calling me. They can’t get in touch with you. You’re lucky they’ve stuck with you this long.”

“I don’t want to talk to them," Jaime yelled back. "They can drop me if they want, it’s not like they’re going to get anything else out of me.”

“There is plenty you can still offer them. If you’d just do one interview-”

“Oh, me crying on the news, that would be compelling viewing.”

“Maybe it would! Drama sells! Why don’t you-”

“Look, my trainer is here, can we do this later?”

“Oh, your _trainer,_ is it? And what is he supposed to be training you in?”

“Hey-” Bronn spoke up, indignant, turning back, but Jaime put a hand on his shoulder. Bronn almost resisted - he  _really_ wanted to give Tywin a piece of his mind - but it looked like that was the last thing Jaime wanted.

“Come on, Bronn,” he said, with a hint of desperation, and Bronn relented. Tywin let them go, his eyes narrowed.

They made it to the gym and Jaime shut and locked the door behind them. Then he slumped on the bottom step, his head in his hands.

Bronn gave him a few minutes while he unpacked his gear, then turned to him when Jaime still hadn’t moved.

“You broke or something?” he asked.

Jaime looked up with a frown. “What? No, why?”

“If you don’t need the money, then why the fuck would you need to have sponsors or do interviews?” Bronn asked flatly.

Jaime sighed and looked away, and mumbled, “He just wants what’s best for me.”

Bronn snorted. “Er, no, he doesn’t. He’s a fucking cunt.”

Jaime looked up with a frown. “You can’t talk about my father that way-”

“I can and I will. You’ve been through a huge trauma, Jaime. Now, I haven’t been through the same thing, but I’ve certainly seen plenty of shit, and you have to understand that people don’t just ‘get over’ stuff like this. It will take a long time. Years, probably. And the last thing you should be doing right now is worrying about sponsors and interviews. You need to take care of yourself first.”

“He’s just saying I need to think about my future…”

“Out of the three people in this house, the only one who really cares about your future is me. And your future involves hitting this pad as hard as you can, as many times as you can. Come on.”

Jaime got reluctantly to his feet and stepped over to Bronn, taking up a stance and hitting the pad Bronn held up.

“Come on, princess, harder than that,” he encouraged, and Jaime made a visible effort to focus but didn’t generate much more power as he punched with his left hand and struck with his right elbow, as they'd trained.

“Come on, imagine this is Tywin’s face. Right here,” Bronn pointed to the centre of the mit. “That’s his nose. What do you think about doing interviews?”

Jaime scowled and suddenly started hitting much harder. “That’s it,” Bronn nodded in approval. “That’s it, Jaime, keep it up.”

And Jaime grunted as he lay into the pad hard, and Bronn continued with the encouragements, but was taken aback when he suddenly noticed Jaime’s eyes had filled up and started to spill over with the next punch.

Bronn lowered the pad and Jaime hastily wiped his face on his sleeve, pretending it was sweat, and Bronn almost decided to pretend not to notice.

Except he couldn’t. He dropped the pad on the ground and stepped forward and pulled Jaime into his arms.

Jaime’s left hand came up and fisted the back of Bronn’s shirt tightly and he pressed his face into Bronn’s neck, trying valiantly to control his breathing.

“You’re not having a great day, hey?” Bronn murmured into his hair.

“No, I’m - I’m fine-” Jaime said, muffled, and Bronn shook his head.

“You’re not fucking fine. Come on, we don’t have to train today. I can go.”

Jaime immediately tightened his grip. Bronn didn’t move. “Or I can stay, and we can do something else? Reckon your father’s still here?”

Jaime nodded. “He’s waiting out there.”

“That’s alright. That’s fine. There’s a bathroom in here. We don’t need to go nowhere. We can wait him out. He’ll piss off eventually.”

He leaned back a little, trying to see Jaime’s face. “Or I can go up there right now and make him leave? Want me to do that?” he said it with a small grin and Jaime gave a watery laugh and shook his head. “No? Alright. Come on, come sit down.”

He led Jaime across to the yoga mats with the TV. Extra equipment was stacked up against the wall; Jaime sat and leaned back against the stack of yoga blocks and exercise balls and clean towels and Bronn knelt down in front of the TV, figuring out how to get it going and searching for something easy to watch. He found the news channel and then moved back next to Jaime, relaxing against an exercise ball, both their legs stretched out on the floor in front of them.

Bronn let Jaime be for a while. The guy was clearly barely coping, and he wanted to treat him gently.

The fact was that Bronn could no longer ignore the somewhat familiar feeling growing inside him, that powerful urge to _protect_ that he got with certain people. He tried to avoid it in general, but with Jaime he knew straight away it was already too late.

It might have even started before he ever met the man, when he stood in Tyrion’s house in front of the TV as they both watched in horror the moment the terrorists brought the sword down on Jaime’s wrist. He had stayed over that night, talking it through with Tyrion and helping him deal with the lawyers and the government representatives and the aid organisations, and even back then he couldn’t deny that he felt - _something_ \- for the brother of his friend, the man on TV he’d never met.

Jaime shifted around and bumped the shelving behind them. Something fell off the top and hit Bronn on the head.

“Ow.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and put a hand to his forehead where whatever it was had struck, and when he opened them again there was an old tennis racket lying on the ground between them and Jaime was staring at it like it was a snake.

Bronn picked it up. “How’re you meant to hold it?” he said lightly, putting both hands on the grip. Jaime reached over automatically and pulled Bronn’s left hand away and adjusted his fingers. “Like this, so your wrist can move.” He raised his right arm as if to demonstrate, then paused and let it drop. He shrugged. “But everyone’s different.”

Bronn passed it to him by the head. “Show me how you hold it.”

Jaime shook his head. “I didn’t use my left hand.”

“I know that. Come on, give it a go.”

Jaime reluctantly took the handle in his left hand. He lifted it in front of him, gave it a swing. Then he slumped. “It feels weird. I feel like a beginner.”

“Maybe we should play sometime. Maybe I’ll beat you, then I can say I beat a grand slam champion.”

Jaime looked over at him with an odd expression that was half a smile and half something else, and he was about to speak when suddenly there were stomping footsteps and a fist hammering on the door.

“I’m going now, if you care to be informed,” came Jaime’s father’s imperious voice. Bronn drew a breath to yell a snarky response and Jaime clapped his hand over Bronn’s mouth before he could, and instead called back, “See you next week.”

The footsteps disappeared again and Jaime let go of Bronn and they shared a smirk.

Bronn almost started to say he’d better head off, but Jaime spoke first.

“You want to stay?” he asked, a little breathlessly. “We could watch a movie or something? I mean, not here, obviously, upstairs is more comfortable, there’s actually a couch at least, and, and I have food and…” he trailed of as he noticed Bronn grinning at him.

“Sure.”

 

Jaime passed Bronn a beer and joined him on the couch as the opening sequence of some lame action movie started on the massive TV screen. Bronn settled back, sipping his beer, and glanced across at Jaime, sitting only half a foot away from him.

“Doing anything this weekend?” he asked casually, and Jaime shook his head.

“No. You?”

_You_. Bronn pushed the thought down. “Nothing planned. Depends on the weather.”

Jaime nodded.

They watched half of the first scene and then Jaime’s phone buzzed and he spent some time texting. Bronn tried not to peek.

“Tyrion wants to know what I did to father,” Jaime said flatly as he typed. “Apparently he’s drinking whisky. He only does that when he’s mad.”

“He went to Tyrion’s house?”

“They’re at dinner together. I was meant to go.”

_Ah_. “Blowing them off to spend time with me, huh?” Bronn asked, lifting one eyebrow.

Jaime just shrugged, and put his phone down. “You know, I wasn’t convinced, when Tyrion first told me to try out his personal trainer.”

Bronn smirked. “No?”

“I thought it might have been like - you know, some kind of disabled person thing.”

“You think your brother would ever do anything that was a ‘disabled person thing’?”

“Well, no. But he kept going on and on about you.”

Bronn deliberately set his bottle down on the coffee table. He sat back, and turned towards Jaime. “And then he decided to set us up,” he said carefully. “For training.” He left a decent pause before adding the second part. He was pleased to see a slight flush begin to spread across Jaime’s cheekbones.

“Yes. He wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks.”

“Weeks, huh?” Bronn said. “Did he show you a picture of me at least?”

Jaime grinned and blushed prettily and Bronn smiled. “No,” Jaime said. “He tried, but no. I- I wanted to meet you myself.”

Bronn wondered how much of that was true. Jaime wasn’t a great liar like Tyrion. When Jaime’s phone buzzed again, Bronn snatched it, lightning fast, before Jaime could stop him.

“Bronn-” Jaime complained, but Bronn had already clicked the button and they both saw the message appear on the lock screen from Tyrion at the same time:

_‘Is he inside you yet?’_

Bronn snorted. Jaime grabbed the phone back, his face bright pink.

“I - erm - Tyrion - erm-”

“You know,” Bronn said lightly, “if you want something, princess, you’ve only got to ask.”

Jaime met his eyes, and he looked nervous - more than nervous, terrified - but he didn’t back off. "I don't - erm-"

Bronn moved his hand just a little to let his fingers brush against Jaime’s. "Has Tyrion got it completely wrong?" he asked.

Jaime looked down. "No," he murmured, slightly breathless, watching and definitely not moving away as Bronn slowly turned Jaime's hand palm up and then gently threaded their fingers together, running his thumb over the inside of Jaime’s wrist.

Jaime took a steadying breath and met Bronn’s eyes again. Bronn lifted his free hand to the back of Jaime’s neck and kissed him.

Jaime made a small needy noise and melted into Bronn, grasping the front of Bronn’s shirt in the hand already holding his. Bronn unthreaded their fingers and slid his hand down Jaime’s forearm and then up under his T-shirt sleeve, running his fingers over the muscles of his upper arm. Jaime kissed tentatively, almost shyly, but when Bronn deepened the kiss and pulled Jaime closer, he responded.

Bronn slid his hand back down to Jaime’s leg and hooked the back of his knee, tugging him along the couch towards Bronn, and then leaned forward, easing Jaime down, kneeling between his legs and following his lips down until he was framed over his body, his elbows pressing into the couch on either side of his head. Jaime opened his mouth for Bronn and Bronn pressed forward with his tongue and Jaime made that small noise again, almost desperate. Bronn drew back slightly.

“You okay, princess?”

Jaime nodded, breathless and pink-cheeked.

“I know it’s been a long time for you,” Bronn said carefully. “We don’t have to - you know,” he nodded towards Jaime’s phone, meaning what Tyrion had suggested. “I get the feeling this is what your brother planned, but this isn’t just a setup for me. I like you.”

“I like you too,” Jaime breathed.

“And I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

Bronn claimed his lips again, and finally lowered his body against Jaime’s, pressing his hips forward and feeling the other man was already as hard as he was.

Jaime’s left hand brushed tentatively at Bronn’s cheek and Bronn reached down to slide his hand under Jaime’s shirt, pushing it up, and brushing his fingers down along his side and then over the outside of his thigh, then back again. Jaime arched up a little against Bronn’s body and Bronn ground down in response, and they started up an irregular, gentle motion back and forth.

Bronn kissed down along Jaime’s jaw, and started down his throat, just starting to turn his mind to how best to get Jaime’s clothes off, when the phone started buzzing again - a call this time, not a message. They both ignored it. Bronn mouthed at Jaime’s neck, pulling his shirt collar aside to give him access, and Jaime squirmed against him as he found the ticklish spot. And the phone rang again.

“Someone wants you,” Bronn said against his skin. “Aside from me, I mean,” he added, chuckling at his own joke.

“Just ignore it,” Jaime breathed as Bronn moved both his hands down to Jaime’s hips, his fingers skimming under the waistband of his pants. The phone rang again.

Bronn sighed and pushed back to sit on his knees, looking down at Jaime with his shirt halfway up his chest and his pants tightly tented and his cheeks pink, and said regretfully, “You’d better get it.”

Jaime reached for the phone and squinted at the screen. “It’s my sister,” he murmured, and swiped to answer.

“What is it?” he said by way of greeting. Bronn had seen his sister on TV, but never in real life. Tyrion didn’t exactly speak highly of her.

“Slow down. Explain from the start.”

Jaime moved to sit up and Bronn backed off, getting out of his way and sliding further down the couch, his own pants uncomfortably tight, and reached for his own phone. He had several messages from Tyrion, the last one being:

_‘Can you please fuck my brother?’_

Bronn rolled his eyes and started a response.

_‘Your sister is being a cockblock. She started calling non-stop before I could even get his pants off.’_

_‘And he answered?!?’_

_‘Sounds like some kind of emergency.’_

It did - Jaime was still trying to extract details. When he finally hung up, he threw the phone down with a sigh and rubbed his hand through his hair.

“It’s my niece, Myrcella,” he explained. “She’s disappeared with some boy. Cersei thinks she’s bar-hopping in the city. She wants me to go track her down.”

Bronn laughed and then realised that Jaime wasn’t joking.

“You?” he exclaimed. “How the hell does she expect you to do something like that? Just call the police if she’s that worried.”

“She has to-” he glanced down as the phone started ringing again. He dived to answer it.

Bronn sighed, irritated, and got to his feet, grabbing his own phone and going to find a bathroom.

He called Tyrion once he closed the door behind him and hoped Jaime wouldn’t hear this conversation.

“What’s going on?” Tyrion asked, and it sounded like he was somewhere crowded, but the noise gradually faded as he moved somewhere quieter.

“Your sister is fucking crazy.”

“Newsflash of the century!”

“She wants Jaime to go hunting through the city for your niece. And he seems inclined to do it. Tyrion - you have to speak to her.”

“What makes you think she’ll listen to me?”

“ _Tyrion_ -” Bronn exclaimed, and paused to run a hand over his face. “Listen. Jaime is - he’s fragile right now, alright?”

“I thought you said you _hadn’t_ fucked him yet,” Tyrion said smugly.

“I don’t mean - this is serious, alright? He can’t handle this shit right now. He’ll say he can but he can’t. Look, I know you planned this when you introduced us. You wanted me to take care of him, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then help me do that. Running off to hunt down some teenage girl on a bender is not what he needs. He needs to be taken care of - for someone to put _him_ first for a change - not be worrying about other people, like it sounds like he’s been doing his whole fucking life.”

Tyrion went quiet for a moment and Bronn almost thought the line had dropped out. Then he said sincerely, “I think I made a very good decision introducing you to my brother.”

“Course you fucking did. Now go fix this, and quickly.”

He ended the call.

He splashed some water on his face and made his way back to the TV room where Jaime was sitting with his head resting on the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling with his phone jammed to his ear. He glanced at Bronn as he returned to the couch.

“She put me on hold,” he said, sulky, and Bronn nodded, hoping it was Tyrion on the other line already.

Bronn picked his beer up again and took a deep swig, half returning his attention to the movie, and half watching Jaime’s tense body and agitated tapping heel. The instinct inside him - the one that screamed _protect_ at him every time he saw Jaime - was telling him it might be a nice idea to pay Jaime’s sister a visit himself. If they became - well, if he and Jaime actually started a relationship, Bronn knew he would be laying down some ground rules with Jaime’s family, privately, ideally without him ever knowing about it.

“Huh?” Jaime suddenly blurted and then frowned as the faint music Bronn could hear turned into a faint voice. After only a few seconds, the call ended, and Jaime stared at the screen.

“What happened?” Bronn asked.

“She - she said it’s fine after all. But she sounded angry. I don’t know…”

“Oh, that’s good then,” Bronn said with a smile, throwing his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You hungry?”

They ordered pizza and watched movies and drank beer and talked. Bronn had a nice time, and he almost didn’t mind about the mood getting interrupted earlier. He was happy enough just spending time with Jaime, and that by itself was enough to alert him to the fact that he was already half in love.

 

It was late; past midnight, when the credits rolled on their fourth film. Bronn had been already half-asleep on the couch and he woke enough to fumble for the remote and flick the TV off. Then he looked across at Jaime. He was deep asleep, lying along the other end of the couch, his head propped on the armrest, his knees bent, one leg resting on the seat of the couch and one on the back.

As Bronn was watching, Jaime’s expression changed in his sleep. His smoothed out face creased gradually into a frown, and a moment later he muttered something unintelligible. Bronn sat up, paying attention, watching as Jaime’s composure deteriorated further. He flinched, and his breathing increased, and he was starting to look truly distressed.

“Jaime,” Bronn said, wanting to wake him from the nightmare. He put a hand on Jaime’s knee. “Jaime, wake up.”

It didn’t do anything. Jaime was growing more distressed by the second. Bronn slid off the couch and moved forward on his knees to Jaime’s head, putting a hand to his cheek. “Jaime,” he said, louder. He shook his shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”

Jaime’s eyes opened and he flinched back from Bronn with a start, for a moment looking terrified. Bronn sat back on his heels, raising his hands palm up. “It’s just me.”

It took a moment before Jaime’s eyes lost their wild terror and he slumped. He wiped sweat off his forehead and sat up on the couch.

“Are you alright?” Bronn asked carefully.

Jaime nodded but wouldn’t look at him. He spent a few seconds breathing deliberately through his nose, and Bronn sat back, waiting patiently. Finally, Jaime ran a hand through his hair and looked up at Bronn. “What time is it?”

“Late. I should go.”

“Don’t go,” Jaime said automatically, and then looked embarrassed. “I mean, you shouldn’t drive when you’re tired.” He paused for a moment, rubbing his face. “There’s a guest bedroom,” he finally said, tentatively.

Bronn cocked his head. “Do I _have_ to sleep in the guest bedroom?”

Jaime gave a faint smile. “Well, no. But I just, uh-”

“Just sleeping,” Bronn said quickly, holding his hands up again.

“Alright.”

Jaime got to his feet and Bronn followed him down the hallway and up the stairs. He’d never been up here before. Everything was dead quiet as he followed close behind Jaime across the landing and into his bedroom. It wasn’t what he expected - he expected it to be ten metres across with a rotating suit rack and a jacuzzi or something, but when he walked in he wondered if this was actually the proper master bedroom. It was normal sized and normal coloured - not stark white like the rest of the house decor - warm, with reds and browns, and messy. The bed wasn’t even made. Bronn stood in the doorway and took it all in appreciatively.

“Sorry about the mess,” Jaime muttered, bending to pick up a discarded shirt, but Bronn caught his arm and stopped him.

“Don’t,” he said. “I like it the way it is.”

Jaime just gave a hesitant smile and crossed to the chest of drawers. He pulled out two sets of pyjamas - shorts and T-shirt - and passed one set to Bronn, then disappeared into the bathroom for a minute.

Bronn got changed - the clothes smelled like Jaime - and got into the bed on the side that looked less used. Jaime came back in smelling like toothpaste and climbed in on the other side and flicked the lights off. Bronn lay on his back on his side of the bed, not wanting to push it, but Jaime immediately rolled closer and threw his arm over Bronn’s chest and buried his head in Bronn’s shoulder and Bronn wrapped his arm around Jaime’s waist.

He wondered what the fuck he’d been doing all his life when clearly the thing he should have been doing was just lying here with Jaime sleeping in his arms.

 

Bronn woke the next morning to a faint knocking on the front door. Jaime was still draped across him, fast asleep, a small drool patch on Bronn’s T-shirt. He slid carefully out from under him and crossed to the door, closing it silently behind him before padding downstairs.

He looked through the eyehole in the door and a man in a sports jacket was standing there. He raised his fist to knock again and Bronn didn’t want him to wake Jaime; he opened the door before he could make any more noise.

The man looked him up and down and said, “I was hoping to speak to Jaime Lannister.”

“Who are you?” Bronn asked, checking the door was unlocked and stepping outside, closing it behind him.

The man hesitated. “I’m from channel seven, I just wanted to ask him a few questions about his time in-”

Bronn growled. “He doesn’t want to do any interviews, alright? And who the fuck comes knocking on someone’s door at seven in the fucking morning on a Saturday?”

“I’ve been trying to get him at more reasonable times but haven’t been able to get in contact-”

“And that doesn’t tell you anything? Like maybe to fuck off?”

The reporter suddenly stilled and looked Bronn up and down properly for the first time. “And who are you?”

“Me? I’m - I’m his PT.”

“And how long have you been training him?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Who is it, Bronn?”

Bronn turned. Jaime was standing in the doorway in his pyjamas, barely awake, his hair all mussed. Bronn sighed.

The reporter’s eyes almost burst out of his head. “Jaime, I’ve been trying to get in contact with you, I just wanted to ask you a few questions, there’s a lot of public interest around your time as a hostage, do you think you could-”

Bronn stepped between them and put his hand out. “Hey, I already told you, he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Bronn, it’s alright-”

Bronn turned on Jaime. “No. Don’t. You told me you didn’t want to.”

Jaime looked anxious, and said through his teeth, “But Bronn, we need to keep a good relationship with the press, it’s really important.”

“You don’t keep a good relationship with people who are cunts,” Bronn shot back.

“Bronn-”

Bronn turned back to the reporter. “You can leave now, alright? Jaime, go back inside.”

“I think he wants to talk to me,” the reporter said stubbornly. “I don’t think it’s really your place to tell him what to do. Is it?”

“I’m not telling him what to do-”

“It sounds like you are. How long have you been sleeping together?”

“Bronn-”

Bronn put his hand on Jaime’s chest, keeping himself between Jaime and the reporter. “Listen, mate, why don’t you just fuck off and leave us alone?”

“Hey, take it easy, man - listen, how about you come in for an interview instead? People would be very interested to hear an insider’s perspective on Jaime Lannister. We could pay _very_ well for that.”

Bronn could feel the anger growing hot in his chest. “I told you to leave,” he said, all the attempted levity gone from his voice.

“So you don’t deny that you’re sleeping together? You’re happy for me to release that?”

“Don’t release that,” Jaime said over Bronn’s shoulder.

“Better give me something else to release then,” the reported shrugged.

“Are you trying to fucking threaten us?” Bronn asked, incredulous, taking a menacing step forward.

“Of course not,” the man replied quickly, trying to dodge around Bronn to the doorway. “So would you say you’re against free speech?”

“Get the fuck out of here!” Bronn yelled.

“I will as soon as you-”

Bronn shoved him back. The man stumbled and fell back on his arse, looking shocked.

“Bronn!” Jaime exclaimed.

Bronn tugged Jaime back inside and slammed the door behind them.

“Jaime, it’s alright-”

“It’s not alright, it’s not-” Jaime was almost hyperventilating. He grabbed his phone off the table. “I need to call my manager.”

“You said you didn’t want to speak to your manager either.”

“Yeah, but now I have to,” Jaime growled.

_“Why?”_

Jaime turned on him. “You just don’t understand, alright?" he said in a sharp voice Bronn had never heard from him before. "You don’t _get_ it. I know you think it’s all simple and you can just do what you want and say what you want and it’ll be fine, but it’s not. Maybe it is for you, but not for me.”

Bronn didn’t know what to say to that. Jaime looked beyond anxious - he looked panicked. He shook his head suddenly. “I have to deal with this now, alright? So maybe you can just go.”

Bronn stilled. Jaime didn’t wait for a response. He just turned away and went into the next room, the phone to his ear, kicking the door shut behind him.

 

By the time Bronn got home and showered and checked his phone, he had several messages from Tyrion. Instead of reading them all, he just called him.

“What did you _do_?”

Bronn sat heavily at his kitchen table. “I told a reporter to fuck off, that’s all.”

_“Really?_ Because there’s an interesting video online right now that shows you hitting him.”

Bronn’s heart sunk. “I didn’t hit him, I just - he was filming?”

“Of course he was. Don’t go online, you don’t want to know.”

Bronn groaned. “Is Jaime - have you talked to Jaime?”

“No, but I’ve talked to father. You realise this isn’t good, Bronn?”

“Yeah, course I fucking realise.”

It grew large enough to make life unpleasant for Bronn. It wasn’t like there were swarms of paparazzi or anything, but there were a few reporters outside his door during the afternoon, and the articles were harsh enough that his professional reputation would likely never fully recover. The police came to question him about the incident, the low point of the entire week, but in the end the reporter decided not to press charges. Probably wanted to hold it over Bronn for later use.

Worst of all, Jaime wouldn’t answer his calls. Tyrion said their father was spending most of his time over at Jaime’s house, and he was pretty sure his manager had turned up as well.

Against Tyrion’s advice, after three days Bronn decided to go over there and try to talk to Jaime. It was a bad idea. Tywin answered the door.

“I don’t believe my son scheduled any training.”

“I just want to talk to him.”

“No.”

Bronn rolled his eyes. “I’m not asking your permission.”

“You will not talk to my son. You will not call him. You will not come to this house. Understand?”

“You can’t tell me what to do, old man.”

Tywin drew himself up to his full - considerable - height. “You think you are the only one who cares about him? You have no idea what you’re doing - you know nothing about his life. You’re an arrogant moron and if you truly care about him then you’ll leave him be.”

“You can’t just-”

“If you come here again I’ll call the police and tell them you assaulted me. And they’ll believe it.”

Bronn paled as he realised Tywin was right. He wanted to yell through the door in case Jaime could hear him; wanted to shove Tywin out of the way and force his way inside. But he didn’t.

 

He sat in Tyrion’s kitchen the following weekend and Tyrion relayed all the information he had. Jaime was scheduled for a big ‘intimate’ interview the following week with the same reporter - a peace offering, he supposed. Tywin had also mentioned a psychiatrist, who happened to be his good friend, and Jaime was now taking a whole bunch of medication that Tyrion was particularly concerned about.

Bronn was infuriated and there was nothing he could do about it. He waited - waited to hear something, even waited with morbid curiosity to see the dreaded interview, but it was never released. Tyrion said he wasn’t sure why, but there was some kind of incident during the recording and now Tywin was refusing to let them air it. Bronn could only imagine, and he desperately hoped Jaime was alright, but even Tyrion didn't know - Jaime was now staying with Tywin and Tyrion had been told he wasn't welcome.

Bronn did see Jaime on the news online though - he felt somehow dirty doing it but he couldn’t help googling him sometimes. There were occasional bit pieces, such as a snap of him going into a fancy restaurant with his father and manager - Bronn zoomed in on the picture and held it close to his nose, to see Jaime’s face - he looked _off_. With dark rings under his eyes and something strange about him Bronn hadn’t seen before.

 

He ran into him once.

He was at Tyrion’s one evening when a car pulled up out the front.

Tyrion looked out the window. “It’s them - father and Jaime. Quick!” He turned back to Bronn. “Hide back there.” He pointed to the couch. “I’ll get them in here, then I’ll take father out, and I’ll keep him occupied as long as I can - you talk to Jaime.”

Feeling ridiculous, Bronn ducked down behind the couch, and listened carefully as the doorbell rang. Tyrion greeted the pair and brought them inside. Tywin was talking like Tyrion was in trouble for something, but Bronn wasn’t sure what it was this time.

“Actually, father,” Tyrion said, “there are some things I need to discuss with you also. In private, if possible?”

“Wait here,” Tywin directed, assumedly to Jaime, and then two steps of footsteps disappeared down the hall. Bronn stuck his head carefully over the edge of the couch to check the coast was clear. Jaime was standing near the arched entrance to the room, his back to Bronn.

_“Jaime!”_ he whispered.

Jaime turned around slowly as Bronn straightened. Jaime’s eyes were strange - glassy - and he made no reaction to Bronn’s appearance.

“Erm - Tyrion is distracting your father so we can talk for a minute,” Bronn said quietly.

“Why are you hiding there?” Jaime finally asked. He had a new prosthetic right hand, which he held awkwardly.

“Because your father doesn't want us to talk. Can you - can you come over here, in case he walks out?”

“He said not to talk to you,” Jaime said in a flat, emotionless voice. Bronn noticed that Jaime wasn’t blinking at all.

Bronn sighed. “Jaime, I just - are you alright?”

“I'm fine.”

He was a fucking zombie. Bronn pushed down the emotion building in his throat and tried to remain calm. “You're seeing a psychiatrist, huh? Is it helping?”

“He gave me some medication.”

“I can see that.”

Bronn decided to risk it. He stepped out into the entranceway - he could hear voices but they were still in another room. He put a hand on Jaime's arm.

“I miss you.”

Jaime looked blankly down at Bronn’s hand and didn't reply.

Bronn sighed. “Listen, just - if you ever need anything, just call me, okay?”

Jaime took a belated step back from Bronn. “I can't deal with a relationship right now,” he said, “I need to focus on my career.” It sounded like a recited line.

“What career is that?” Bronn asked, irritated, and a scowl appeared over Jaime’s face, the first hint of emotion he’d shown.

“Just leave me alone, Bronn.”

 

Bronn slipped out of the house without Tywin ever knowing he was there. He was so angry he went straight to his gym and pounded the bag for an hour. But ultimately there was nothing he could do.

The best thing would be to forget all about Jaime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! ^_^


	3. Match

It was a month later. Bronn rolled over in bed one night when his phone rang for the second time. It was two a.m.

“Tyrion?”

“Bronn,” Tyrion exclaimed in desperate relief. “I need your help. Father can’t find Jaime. I’m worried he’s OD’d.”

Bronn sat up.

“Wh… Why would you think that?”

Tyrion hesitated, and then said reluctantly. “I didn’t want to tell you, but two weeks ago, there was a scare-”

“Are you _fucking kidding_ me?”

“Please calm down, I need your help now. Jaime needs your help. They were staying at father’s house last night but he’s disappeared. Can you think of anywhere he might go?”

“Home?” Bronn said. “Dunno where else.”

“Father said he’s checked there.”

Bronn’s phone beeped and he pulled it away from his ear to look at the screen. “Jaime’s calling me,” he said tightly.

He quickly swiped, adding Jaime to the call.

“Bronn…”

“Jaime?”

The line wasn’t great. Or the speaker was muffled against something.

“Jaime, where are you?”

“Bronn, I feel sick,” came Jaime in his most complain-y voice, and Bronn felt like his heart was being squeezed.

“Okay - okay, just tell me where you are, love. I'll come get you.”

There was loud rustling for several seconds and then the line went dead.

“Jesus,” Bronn muttered.

“He didn’t sound good.”

“He sounded like he was off his _fucking_ face,” Bronn growled. “When I see Tywin, I’m going to take his balls and shove them-”

“Focus, Bronn,” Tyrion interrupted. “It sounded like he was outdoors. There were cars in the background.”

“Okay, so-” Bronn ran his hand over his face. “Maybe he tried to go home. He could have walked. Look, I’ll - I’ll meet you at his house and we’ll double check there and then decide what to do, okay?’

“Okay. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Bronn rolled out of bed and haphazardly pulled clothes on and grabbed his keys and headed down the two flights of stairs to the ground floor. He unlocked the door to the street and pushed it open - and the door caught on something.

He looked down - and there was Jaime lying on the street right outside his front door, next to a puddle of vomit and a bottle of pills spilled open across the pavement, his prosthetic hand sitting at a weird angle.

“Fuck, Jaime, fuck, fuck,” Bronn muttered as he squeezed through the gap in the door and dropped down next to him. He rolled him on his side. He felt close to passing out himself when Jaime groaned and opened his eyes. “Jesus christ, Jaime, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Jaime looked up at him, eyes not quite focussed, and smiled. “Bronn.”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Bronn said gruffly and snatched up the pill bottle. “What happened? Did you take too many of these?”

Jaime shook his head and looked a little green under the streetlight. “I didn’t.”

Bronn peered at the label but couldn’t actually focus enough to read it. His hands were shaking.

“Bronn, I threw up,” Jaime said plaintively, and Bronn returned his attention to him.

“Yeah, I know,” he said fondly, tugging the end of his sleeve down to wipe Jaime’s face. The knees of his jeans were ripped and bloody from falling. “How did you get here?” he asked, lifting Jaime’s left hand to find it was also grazed and bleeding.

“Taxi,” Jaime mumbled.

“Taxi,” Bronn repeated faintly, before shaking his head and leaning forward to wrap his arms around Jaime’s chest and lift him up to standing. “Come on,” he grunted, hauling him up. “Let’s get you inside.” He adjusted Jaime in his arms and then bent and swept his knees up off the ground, hoisting him into his arms with not inconsiderable effort.

He was puffing hard by the time he got Jaime up the stairs. He lay him down on the couch and leaned on the arm for a moment, panting.

“Will you - do you think you might throw up again?”

Jaime nodded, so Bronn went to grab his first aid kit and a bucket, and as soon as he set it on the ground Jaime hauled himself up into a sitting position, grabbing the bucket as he threw up again. Bronn sat down next to him and rubbed his back tentatively, unsure if Jaime would push him away.

After a minute Jaime put the bucket down and flopped back, leaning heavily on Bronn. Bronn reached for the tissue box and wiped Jaime’s face again.

“What’s going on, Jaime,” he murmured, more to himself than anything.

“I escaped,” Jaime replied thickly. “I got my phone back and waited til father was asleep and then I came here. But I got lost.”

“You were right outside my door.”

Jaime frowned in confusion. “I fell down.”

“Yeah,” Bronn said with a small smile, lifting Jaime’s left hand onto his knee, palm-up, and reaching for the first aid kit. Before he put his hand on it, however, he jumped when his own phone started buzzing. He tugged it out of his pocket - Tyrion was calling.

“Ah shit, Tyrion, sorry, I forgot to call you - he’s here.”

“Is he alright?”

“Not really. He’s throwing up. Get over here.”

“Give me another twenty minutes.”

He hung up. Bronn returned his attention to Jaime’s grazed palm. “Your brother’s coming over,” he said. Jaime nodded groggily and then let his head flop onto Bronn’s shoulder. “Alright, princess?” he asked, and then squeezed his eyes shut briefly as he caught himself. It probably wasn’t appropriate to use that name anymore. But Jaime didn’t seem to have noticed. “...You tell me if you’re going to throw up again, alright?”

Jaime gave a nod and then watched as Bronn cleaned and bandaged his hand.

He tried to roll Jaime’s jeans up to get to his grazed knees, but they were too bloody tight, so he pushed him down onto the couch and took them off so that he could clean the scrapes and stick bandages on, leaving him in only his shorts. Predictably, that was when Tyrion arrived.

“Is he - is he-”

“He’s alright,” Bronn said in a somewhat shaky voice, closing the door behind Tyrion.

Tyrion took two steps inside, saw Jaime’s state on the couch, and raised an eyebrow at Bronn. “And you’ve wasted no time taking advantage of the situation?”

“Oh, for - he fucked up his knees and his jeans are too fucking fashionable to roll up from the bottom.”

Jaime was turning green again. He waved his bandaged hand at Bronn, who hurried over and tugged him upright again in time for him to retch into the bucket once more. Bronn put a steadying hand on his back and pulled the pill bottle from his pocket, tossing it to Tyrion.

“Do you know anything about these? He said he just took what he was meant to.”

“Benzos,” Tyrion said, glancing at the bottle. “They’re for anxiety.” He went around to Jaime’s other side and put a hand on his right arm. “Jaime, did you have a drink tonight?”

“Tyrion…” Jaime mumbled, finally noticing him.

Tyrion nodded. “Focus, Jaime. Have you had any alcohol?”

“Wine,” Jaime groaned into the bucket. “At father’s.”

“Father gave you _wine_ while you’re taking…”

Bronn snatched the bottle back from Tyrion when it looked in danger of being crushed in his fist.

“We need to go to the hospital,” Bronn said.

“No hospital,” Jaime immediately blurted out, voice hoarse from retching.

“Jaime, you’re really sick-”

“No. Hospital.” Jaime’s breathing was visibly increasing into something close to panic and Bronn recalled the few bits of information Jaime had given him about his experience in hospitals after he was rescued, and wondered what the fuck had happened to him to cause this abject fear. He looked helplessly at Tyrion.

“It’s alright. I have a GP friend, I’ll call her,” Tyrion offered, pulling his phone out again and going in to the next room.

Jaime dropped the bucket back on the ground with a groan and slumped against Bronn again.

“Bronn, no hospital,” he repeated.

“Alright, alright,” Bronn assured, and reluctantly lifted his arm as Jaime buried his face into his shoulder, setting it along the back of the couch rather than around him. He was confused about what was going on. Why was Jaime all over him like this? Was it just the drugs?

By the time Tyrion came back into the room, Jaime had crumpled down until he was flopped sideways on the couch, his head on Bronn’s thigh.

Tyrion’s doctor friend got there thirty minutes later and checked Jaime over. It was nothing invasive - temperature, tongue, stethoscope - but Jaime sat with his hand in a vice grip on Bronn’s arm the whole time.

“It would be best to just go to hospi-”

“He doesn’t want to go to hospital,” Bronn spoke up before Jaime could say anything.

“If he gets any worse, you will have to, but for now I would say just monitor him. It’s not bad enough that he needs a stomach pump. He’ll sleep and he’ll have a terrible hangover. Just watch him to make sure he doesn’t get any worse. And no more pills or alcohol.”

The doctor left and Jaime slumped onto Bronn’s leg again. Bronn threaded his fingers through Jaime’s hair absently and then after a moment froze and realised what he was doing and withdrew.

Tyrion returned to sit on Jaime’s other side.

“Sorry about this,” he muttered. Bronn shook his head. It was obvious Jaime wasn’t himself - wasn’t even in the same region as himself - but Bronn was interested in the things Jaime had said earlier in his muddled state.

“He said he escaped from your father’s house. He specifically used the word ‘escaped’,” Bronn said softly to Tyrion, over Jaime’s head. “Tyrion, what’s been going on? Was he being kept under lock and key or some shit? He also said he ‘got his phone back’ - did Tywin confiscate it or something?”

Tyrion held his hands up defensively. “You know I’m no longer welcome at my father’s house. I’ve already told you everything I know. I tried everything; I even tried sneaking in there one night. All I know is Tywin applied the full force of his manipulation and Jaime fell for it as usual.”

Bronn frowned. “But he escaped.”

“He did. And he came straight to you. As usual, I recommend paying more attention to what my brother _does_ than what he _says.”_

“I figured that much out myself, thanks.”

Tyrion smirked. “Is he asleep?”

“I think so.”

“I’d better get him home.”

Bronn glanced up. “He can stay here,” he said, probably too eagerly, but who was he kidding, Tyrion already knew how far gone he was. “I don’t mind.”

“Bronn, that’s too much to ask of you, I mean, you have work, and-”

“You’re saying you could look after him better?”

Tyrion shrugged. “Well, no, I don’t think I could ‘look after him’ in quite the same way as you, but-”

“Come on,” Bronn growled.

Tyrion grinned. “Alright, alright. You want me to leave? I’m happy to stay and help but I’m guessing you’d prefer to have him to yourself for a while.”

Bronn nodded. “You guessed right.”

 

After Tyrion left, Bronn scooped Jaime up again and carried him to the bed. It was four in the morning. Bronn was wrecked. He lay Jaime down, tugged the blanket over him, then got in on the other side, leaving space between them, and fell asleep within minutes.

 

In the morning, Bronn woke and climbed carefully out of bed without waking Jaime, who was still dead asleep. He cancelled his clients for the day and made his way quietly around his apartment, eating breakfast, doing some washing. It was getting towards midday and Jaime still hadn’t stirred. Bronn came back in from the balcony after hanging some clothes to dry and slid the door quietly closed, listening for any movement from the bedroom. There was nothing, and he walked past the room on the way to the kitchen, and then stopped. Jaime wasn’t there.

Bronn looked around, surprised. The bathroom was empty as well.

“Jaime?” he called tentatively, pausing to listen. Then he noticed that Jaime’s jeans and shoes were gone. Bronn grabbed his keys and jacket and went downstairs.

The door to the street was unlocked. Bronn stepped out and looked up and down the street. It was busy, like usual, and several people were walking back and forth, but at the end of the block and just turning a corner, he caught a glimpse of dirty blonde hair. He locked the door behind him and started down the street.

Frowning, he walked briskly, but he didn’t run to catch up. He wasn’t sure if Jaime wanted to be found, and he didn’t want to draw attention to him, anyway. He just closed the distance a little and then followed a little way behind. Jaime didn’t seem to have much direction. He was wandering, his gaze on his feet.

He crossed the road and went into the park. Bronn followed.

He wandered down the path, past the pond, then turned and wandered past the fountain, pausing for a moment to look up at it, then continued. Up ahead were the tennis courts. Bronn quickened his pace when he realised - _the_ _tennis courts_. When Jaime saw them, he slowed for a moment, and then made his way over, pausing on the outside of the fence. Each court was in use, men and women on their lunch break hitting the ball back and forth. He stood with his arms tightly crossed, hiding his right wrist; he’d left the prosthetic behind.

Bronn sidled up to Jaime unobtrusively, not standing too close. Jaime glanced once at him, without surprise, then looked back. They stood quietly side by side for several minutes, watching the players.

There were about a hundred things Bronn could have said, but he kept his mouth shut and waited. When Jaime shuddered slightly, hugging his arms more tightly around his body, Bronn noticed goosebumps on his bare arms and slipped his own jacket off. He sat it around Jaime’s shoulders and Jaime finally moved, sliding his arms into the sleeves.

Bronn glanced over the other side of the tennis courts - there was a coffee shop at the corner of the park.

“Want a coffee?” he finally said.

Jaime nodded.

Bronn turned to walk over there and glanced back to check Jaime was following - he trailed after Bronn.

At the cafe, Bronn ordered and they sat down at a table outside, still within sight of the tennis courts. Jaime was still watching them as though transfixed.

They sat in silence for several minutes until their order arrived. Bronn had ordered a muffin for Jaime, thinking he was probably hungry, and he pushed it toward him. Jaime glanced down at it, then up at Bronn, then reached to pick a bit of the chocolate off the top.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Why haven’t we been talking?” he mumbled.

Bronn’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

Bronn hesitated. “Jaime,” he said gently. “The last time we spoke, you told me to leave you alone.”

Jaime frowned and lifted another piece of the muffin to his mouth with a slightly shaky hand.

“You don’t remember, do you?” Bronn murmured. Jaime met his eyes briefly before his gaze slid away again, enough of a confirmation for Bronn. He felt something heavy in his chest suddenly disappear as he realised Jaime hadn’t meant what he said, but another feeling settled in immediately after - a slightly ill feeling when he realised that Jaime obviously thought Bronn had abandoned him this past month.

Bronn sighed. “Those pills really didn’t work for you, huh?”

“They tried a few different combinations,” Jaime muttered, sipping his coffee, “but I never even saw the psychiatrist. He was father’s friend. He just emailed through the prescriptions.”

Bronn had to take a deep breath in order to not overreact to that news.

Instead, he said, “You know, if you saw a psychiatrist properly, pills can be helpful. As long as the dosage is appropriate and-”

“No. No pills. Never again.”

“Alright, alright,” Bronn relented.

He let Jaime finish his muffin and then they made their way slowly back to Bronn’s place.

As they walked, Bronn felt the need to do something to alleviate the uneasiness in his chest, so he took a breath and said, “I’m sorry for what happened with that reporter.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jaime murmured.

“I was the dumb cunt who pushed him. At least he didn’t end up pressing charges.”

When Jaime just nodded, Bronn narrowed his eyes, drawing to a halt. “You knew that, didn’t you? How?”

Jaime had the look of being caught out. He turned back to Bronn and shuffled his feet reluctantly before saying, “I made a deal with him.”

“What deal?”

“I said I’d do an interview if he didn’t press charges.”

Bronn ran a hand over his face. He felt ill. “You didn't have to do that… I didn’t want you to do-”

“It worked,” Jaime interrupted, quietly. “And he didn’t get his interview in the end, anyway.”

“What happened?”

Jaime looked down.

“Jaime…”

“I tried but I just can't… I couldn't… _You’re_ the only one I've been able to talk to about it. I used to hate the weekend because we didn't train. Sunday sucked. I always missed you.”

Bronn didn't know what to say to that. “...We could have trained weekends as well,” he said dumbly, and Jaime didn’t reply, he just turned to continue walking. Bronn followed, and his hand accidentally brushed Jaime’s as he turned, and to his surprise, Jaime slipped his hand into Bronn’s, almost automatically, without a word.

Bronn felt his throat close up.

They walked back to his place without saying anything else. Bronn unlocked the doors, and once they were upstairs again Jaime rubbed his eyes and looked exhausted.

“You want to go back to bed?” Bronn asked.

Jaime nodded, and scowled. “Those pills wrecked me,” he grumbled, toeing his shoes off at the door. “I should never have taken them.”

“But… why did you start them?” Bronn asked before he could stop himself, and immediately winced. He knew he wasn’t going to like the answer to this question.

Jaime didn’t notice his expression. “I thought it might help,” he mumbled. “I didn’t have anyone to talk to anymore, after you…”

Bronn’s heart sunk and he saw the sting of the betrayal Jaime had obviously felt, still in his expression.

“I tried calling you about fifty times,” Bronn said quietly.

“Father took my phone, I _told_ you.”

Bronn wasn’t sure how he was meant to have known that, but he also understood Jaime wasn’t really experiencing emotions normally right now, so he let it slide. He understood the important bit: Jaime had been hoping Bronn would come save him. And Bronn hadn’t.

“Your father threatened me, and I let him, like a stupid idiot,” he said savagely. “I should have fought harder for you.”

Jaime tilted his head, with a slight frown. “Bronn, no one has ever fought for me the way you have.”

“That's because everyone else sucks,” Bronn said, taking a decisive step forward, grabbing Jaime’s elbow and kissing him.

Jaime leaned into Bronn, and when he withdrew let his head drop down onto Bronn’s shoulder. He was wrecked.

“C’mon. You need to sleep.”

 

Jaime slept in Bronn’s bed most of the rest of the day and then all night. Bronn made him a sandwich when he woke at ten p.m., and was already asleep again by the time Bronn went to bed. Again, he climbed in very carefully so as not to wake him, and got up again in the morning in the same way.

Bronn sat at the kitchen bench with his laptop to work through his accounts the next morning, and at around ten a.m. he heard the shower start up. Jaime emerged ten minutes later, having helped himself to Bronn’s wardrobe.

“How do you feel?” he asked, feeling suddenly slightly warm when he saw Jaime wearing his clothes.

“Better,” Jaime said, and he looked it - clean and rested and more like his old self. Bronn got to his feet. “Are you working today?” Jaime asked, glancing at the laptop and papers. Bronn took his elbow and turned him until his arse sat against the edge of the kitchen bench, and Bronn moved closer.

“No, not today,” Bronn said, nuzzling the side of Jaime’s face and moving his nose down his neck towards the collar of Bronn’s T-shirt, where their scents were mixing together.

“What do you want to do today?” Jaime asked a little breathlessly, his left hand brushing at Bronn’s side, pulling him closer, and he pressed his hips to Jaime’s firmly.

“Well,” Bronn said, running a hand over Jaime’s back, “I’m thinking perhaps in an hour or so I’ll make you breakfast.”

Jaime shuddered and Bronn saw his adam’s apple bob as he ran his lips over Jaime’s throat without quite kissing yet.

“In an hour?” Jaime asked, a grin in his voice. “What are we doing until then?”

Bronn opened his mouth to reply and then they both froze at a sudden banging on the door.

“Jaime?” came a muffled angry voice from downstairs. It was Tywin. “Jaime, are you in there?”

A fierceness overcame Jaime’s expression that Bronn hadn’t seen since watching his last grand slam on TV. Jaime made for the door.

Bronn wasn’t sure whether to stop him or go with him or hide upstairs. “Jaime…” he said warningly, following after the other man as he crossed the room, threw open the door and started down the stairs with heavy feet. Bronn froze in the doorway and ran back to grab the keys, then hurried after Jaime.

The arguing started before he even reached the bottom of the stairs. Jaime had unlocked and opened the front door and had stepped out onto the street and shoved Tywin back and was raising his arm to hit him by the time Bronn got there and grabbed his arm, stopping him, holding him back.

“You drugged me and you took my phone and you kept me locked up like a child-” Jaime was saying in a low voice, as though he could barely believe what he was saying.

Tywin was shocked. Whatever he had expected coming here, it hadn’t been this. “Jaime, it wasn’t like that, you’re not remembering correctly-”

“Because you drugged me!” Jaime exclaimed.

“The psychiatrist prescribed-”

“I should report your buddy psychiatrist. I almost had to go to hospital last night-”

“Hospital?” Tywin said sharply, looking from Jaime to Bronn, who had both Jaime’s arms locked up behind him. Jaime tugged against the hold, and Bronn spoke over him, “It’s alright, Tyrion and I looked after him, a doctor visited.”

Whatever else Tywin was, he at least deserved to know his son was safe.

“Don’t - Bronn, don’t, let me go-” Jaime struggled against him.

“Not if you’re going to hit someone,” Bronn said.

“I won’t,” Jaime said, and Bronn released him. Jaime straightened his clothes and turned away from Tywin, about to go back inside, but stopped halfway.

“This is exactly like in the junior tournament. The same thing over again. You almost got me kicked off the tour that time. And I fell for it again.” Jaime sighed and focused on the pavement. His next words were in a low voice. “Don’t talk to Bronn. Don’t talk to me. Leave us alone. And I’m saying _that_ fully sober.”

With that, he went back inside.

Bronn stood awkwardly a moment longer facing Tywin, who was speechless with shock. Whatever else the man was, he probably _did_ have good intentions, they just came out completely wrong. Bronn couldn’t bring himself to completely hate him.

He took a breath and waved a hand in Jaime’s direction awkwardly. “I’ll look after him,” he said, meeting Tywin’s eyes levelly, and the older man didn’t reply, but then, he didn’t make a rude comment either, and Bronn supposed that was something.

He followed Jaime back inside.

Jaime was fuming the rest of the morning. Bronn let him brood, just made sure he ate something and then drove him home to check on his house. Jaime was still angry when they got there and did a quick walkaround, checking everything was as it should be - Jaime didn’t think he’d been there for weeks, though he couldn’t remember clearly.

When they passed the tennis court, Jaime slowed again, and Bronn saw that same look in his eye as he’d noticed yesterday. There were rackets stacked in a shed to the side. Making a decision, Bronn grabbed two of them and then took Jaime’s hand, pulling him out onto the court.

“Bronn, no, I don’t want to,” Jaime said, stopping at the edge of the court, pulling on Bronn’s arm. He had at least lost the scowl that had been on his face all morning. Instead he looked nervous.

“Come on, let’s just have a go,” Bronn said, tugging on his arm again. Jaime resisted, looking torn.

Bronn knew he was making Jaime uncomfortable, something he normally didn't want to do at all, but at the same time he could see something in his eyes, something that told him Jaime wanted to be pushed right now, and although he hadn't been his trainer for a while now, he knew to trust his instinct on that. So he put more strength into it and tugged Jaime onto the court.

Turning, he put the racket in Jaime's hand and went over to the ball machine on the other side of the court. He wasn't sure how it worked, but he flicked it to on and it whirred to life and a few seconds later spat out a ball, over the net, towards Jaime. He watched it fly past him, the racket held loosely at his side.

“You missed!” Bronn yelled. Jaime scowled, and his eyes slid towards the gate, obviously thinking about walking off. But Bronn knew he wouldn't. He ran back to the other side of the court and picked up the other racket.

“I'm gonna get more than you,” he said, and swung the racket hard at the next ball. It rebounded into the ground hard and bounced away.

“Follow through,” Jaime directed automatically. Bronn caught the next one - he followed through, but evidently far too much - it flew completely out of the court and onto the roof of the house.

He glanced at Jaime in time to see him roll his eyes.

“Oh, come on then princess, are you gonna show me how it's done?” Bronn goaded. Jaime was still reluctant. Bronn wondered if he was worried about being laughed at, so he added. “Don't let me stand here and make a cunt of myself, come on.”

Jaime hit the next ball. He winced, evidently feeling awkward with the left hand, but the ball still at least flew over the net and landed in the middle of the court. Jaime circled his left shoulder automatically, loosening it up.

“Jesus,” Bronn muttered, “no need to fucking embarrass me. Mine!”

He dived toward the next one but Jaime got there first. Bronn felt like laughing in triumph but held it in, keeping up the annoyed act, noticing the competitive gleam in Jaime's eyes that Bronn had never seen in person, only on TV, and when the next ball flew from the machine he tried to push Jaime out of the way, but he dodged and still reached the ball with a shouted laugh.

Jaime was nowhere near as bad as Bronn thought he'd feared. Not that he knew that much about tennis, but getting the ball to go where he wanted it seemed to be an important part of it, and Jaime was doing fine with that. Bronn stood back and watched him as he started to attempt some different strokes, moving around the court, sweat building on his forehead.

Bronn didn't want him to stop. He started collecting balls to refill the machine and they kept going for over an hour. Bronn could barely believe it, but Jaime was literally improving before his eyes, gaining confidence, and if he'd known simply getting him on the court would be this good for him he would have done it months ago - but then, Jaime would have refused months ago. Even yesterday he would have refused. Something had changed, and Bronn felt a small hope growing in his heart that Jaime was going to be alright.

Bronn kept the machine going for another thirty minutes before he let the balls run out. The whirring of the machine changed pitch as it reached empty and he switched it off then walked back over to Jaime. He had drained his whole bottle of water at once and he dropped it then lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face, and came up grinning at Bronn.

There were a million things he could say right now but he didn't want to cheapen what had just happened by attempting to summarise it. Instead he folded his arms and said, “Well, I'm glad I wasn't paying for that lesson, because you'd be the worst fucking coach ever, hogging the court like that.”

Jaime just laughed.

Back inside, Jaime went to shower while Bronn got a beer from the fridge and then pulled up the food delivery options on his phone, wandering upstairs after Jaime. When he heard the shower shut off, he called out, “Are you hungry? I’ll order something.”

Jaime slid the door open while tugging a shirt over his head. He looked out at Bronn, still drying his hair with the towel, and clearly hadn’t listened to a word Bronn said.

“I think I want to relearn,” he said, and he looked like he was somehow glowing. Bronn sat the beer and his phone on the chest of drawers and went over to lean in the doorframe.

“Judging by what I just saw, you'd be crazy not to.”

“I don't know if I can compete again,” Jaime said warningly.

“Do you want to compete?”

Jaime shook his head. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I just want to play.”

“Then you should do that,” Bronn said and watched with a small amount of fascination as Jaime used some kind of moisturiser on his face. Was that why his skin was always so nice?

Jaime nodded. “I'm going to call my old coach.”

“The crazy one?” Bronn asked, suddenly alarmed, remembering Jaime's most recent coach who was on the news last year after getting caught smacking his current player over the head, making Bronn suspect Jaime had been treated the same way.

“No. Not him. An old coach. One I liked.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

Jaime sprayed a cologne on his neck and Bronn had to close his eyes a moment as he breathed in, realising that was the distinctive scent Jaime always wore, feeling almost overpowered with it. When he opened his eyes again Jaime was watching him with half a grin.

Bronn took two steps forward and their lips met. Jaime pushed his hand into Bronn’s hair and pulled him closer.

“Bronn - I want-”

Bronn pressed Jaime against the lip of the basin with his hips.

“What do you want?” he asked smoothly, his hand already up under Jaime’s shirt, and Jaime’s breath was coming fast but he swallowed hard and didn’t reply.

Bronn kissed him gently on the jaw. “You can tell me what you want,” he said, encouraging.

“I don’t…” Jaime trailed off. His hand came up to grasp tightly in the front of Bronn’s shirt. “I just-” he cut off with a short sigh.

“Want me to kiss you?” Bronn asked, and Jaime nodded. Bronn pressed his lips softly against Jaime’s, then drew back a few inches. “Where else?”

Jaime took a few shallow breaths, fighting against some ingrained instinct, and then tilted his jaw up, exposing his neck. Bronn leaned close and pressed his lips against Jaime’s throat, kissing slowly down lower, to the top of his shoulder, to the spot that made Jaime squirm against him.

“Want me to touch you?” he murmured against his skin, and Jaime shuddered and nodded his head but didn’t reply.

“Tell me where, princess.”

Jaime just groaned in response and Bronn smirked, pushing his shirt up. Jaime raised his arms and Bronn pulled it off and threw it away and put his mouth on Jaime’s shoulder, his hands running over the smooth skin of his back.

He held Jaime tightly against him and moved backwards, towards the bed, and when they got there he turned and pushed Jaime down onto it. He sat, and Bronn reached one hand out to push Jaime lightly in the shoulder, and he flopped onto his back. Bronn grasped the hem of his shorts and tugged them down. Jaime lifted his hips to help. Bronn threw them aside, leaving Jaime in just his underwear, and then followed him down, planting his knee between Jaime’s legs and putting pressure on his groin with his own thigh as he lay down over him, kissing him again.

He reached for Jaime’s left hand and raised it above his head, threading their fingers together and pressing his palm into the mattress. Jaime was almost vibrating underneath him - he felt tense and was almost-but-not-quite flinching at every movement Bronn made, he was that wound up. Bronn didn’t ask if he was alright; he knew what he was feeling. He was nervous and excited at the same time. He needed this, but he hadn’t been intimate with anyone for a long time.

“It’s alright,” Bronn murmured in his ear, running his hand down Jaime’s arm and over his bicep, then over his chest and down his side. “Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not _scared_ ,” Jaime muttered, his voice going rather high pitched, his face a little flushed.

“Good.”

Smirking, Bronn moved back onto his knees and tugged Jaime’s underwear halfway down his thighs. His cock was as pretty as the rest of him. Bronn palmed it gently, lying himself back down, half on top of Jaime, before closing his fist around it and making small strokes. He kissed him again, but Jaime was having trouble focusing on that, panting against Bronn’s mouth. Bronn trailed his lips down again, over Jaime’s throat and then his chest. Jaime gasped and arched his back a little.

“Bronn,” he groaned, “I want- I want to-”

Bronn smiled against his skin and he thought he got the idea without Jaime having to form a complete sentence. He stood and stripped his own clothes off quickly. Jaime watched him, still lying there with his arms above his head, his underpants tangled just above his knees, his eyes fixed on Bronn.

“In here?” Bronn asked, reaching for the top drawer of the nightstand. Jaime nodded. Bronn rifled through the drawer until he laid his hand on a condom and some lube.

He quickly rolled the condom on, Jaime still watching his every movement.

Then Bronn tugged Jaime’s underpants off, freeing his legs, and knelt between his thighs, pushing one leg higher up on the bed and lifting the other, setting Jaime’s knee against his chest. He sat on his knees and spread lube over two fingers, moving them down to Jaime’s spread crack and closing his other hand around his cock again.

He watched Jaime’s face carefully as he ran a finger around his hole and massaged at the edges before pushing a little inside. He was tight.

“When was the last time?” he asked, stroking Jaime’s cock slowly with his other hand.

“A friend on the tour,” Jaime said tightly, breathing hard as Bronn pressed further inside. “A few months before I got captured.”

Bronn nodded.

“You?”

Bronn hadn’t been expecting him to ask. “It’s been a few months.”

“Before you met me?”

Bronn grinned and moved forward, his finger still inside Jaime, moving around in small circles, and he leaned on his free elbow close enough to almost kiss him. “Yes, before I met you,” he said in a low voice.

“No one since?”

“No, princess.”

Jaime’s face didn’t change - not really - but Bronn could tell he was quite satisfied with that. “And there won’t be,” he continued, sensing the extra question beneath Jaime’s words. “I’m gonna make you mine, right now, and there’ll be no-one else.”

Jaime swallowed hard and Bronn knew he’d said the right thing, and he added a second finger.

“Bronn-” Jaime gasped, his hand finally coming down to Bronn’s shoulder. “M-me too. I- I won’t-”

Bronn kissed him. “I know.”

He could feel Jaime relaxing in increments, and kissing him seemed to help, so he did that, pressing both his tongue and his fingers inside Jaime at once, and Jaime’s body was becoming floppy and pliant under Bronn’s hands, just as he hoped it would. His fingers spread him wider - wide enough - and Jaime groaned when he withdrew.

He quickly coated his own cock with lube, over the condom, and then lifted Jaime’s knee up again and positioned his cock at his entrance, pressing firmly to hold it in place without slipping, but not pressing inside yet. Jaime tensed up again, and Bronn waited patiently, tracing circles over Jaime’s hip with the thumb of his free hand as Jaime took a deep breath and made a visible effort to relax.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Bronn said.

“I know,” Jaime breathed.

Bronn pressed a little way inside. Jaime squirmed slightly under him, breathing hard. Bronn leaned forward carefully, without thrusting, splaying his hand out over Jaime’s ribs, his other hand holding the base of his cock steady. Sweat was breaking out on Jaime’s forehead.

He pressed a little further. He was far enough in now that he thought he should almost be at the point where - there. Jaime’s eyes squeezed shut and he gasped as Bronn’s cock pressed against his prostate. Bronn adjusted his cock with his hand a little to get a better angle on it, and pressed into it a bit harder.

_“Bronn-”_ Jaime groaned, his voice breaking, and Bronn grinned, feeling Jaime relax even further, and pressed in a little more, and leaned forward enough to kiss him again. Jaime kissed chastely, barely able to concentrate, his lips pressing against Bronn’s upper lip.

Jaime was breathing hard now, little sounds coming out over each exhale, and before Bronn was even all the way inside his hips were pressing up against Bronn, starting a slow rhythm, and Bronn went with it, sliding a little way out then in again, trying very hard to be gentle.

Jaime squirmed responsively each time Bronn’s cock slid past his prostate, and his sounds were getting louder, gravelly moans in time with Bronn’s thrusts, and that noise by itself was enough to spur Bronn on even closer to release. He was picking up the pace now, being less gentle. Jaime’s cock was leaking at the tip. Bronn reached down to grab it and pump in time with his thrusts. Jaime grabbed Bronn’s shoulder for support, gripping hard, and he was slightly concerned that Jaime was almost hyperventilating, but then his eyes squeezed shut and his whole body crunched up, his forehead pressing into Bronn’s shoulder as he spilled over Bronn’s fist. Breathing hard, he flopped back down as Bronn milked another spurt out of him, making a mess all over his stomach, and a second later Bronn came deep inside Jaime, dropping his head to Jaime’s chest.

“Jaime-” he breathed, all the bass dropped out of his voice, “I fucking love you. I’m in love with you. Have been for ages.”

“Bronn…”

“It’s alright, I know, it’s too early for me to say it, it’s lame, you don’t have to say it back, but I just wanted to, since it’s true.” Bronn didn’t usually ramble like this. He reached for the tissue box on the nightstand without looking up, grabbing a handful of tissues and wiping Jaime’s stomach, and then groaned as his softening cock slipped out of him. It hadn’t lasted nearly long enough but he wasn’t surprised; their first time together had been a long time coming.

He rolled to Jaime’s side and Jaime followed him, rolling to face Bronn. He raised his hand to smooth back Bronn’s hair. “What if I _want_ to say it back?” he said quietly.

Bronn brought a hand up to Jaime’s face. “What am I always telling you about the things you want, love?”

“That I should just do them.”

Bronn smiled. Jaime opened his mouth and said, “Bronn, I lo-”

Bronn didn’t let him finish. He captured the rest of the sentence with his mouth on Jaime’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! ^_^
> 
> I'm thinking of doing a part 2 for this, because I think Jaime still has plenty of issues that need resolving. Let me know what you thought of this and/or if you'd be interested in more. 
> 
> Thanks again for all the awesome comments and feedback on this, it's hugely appreciated and makes me write so much more, you guys are the best :)
> 
> \- Roque


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